of the estate, i. e. not to suffer even the little children, who have scarcely more strength than to enable them to go alone, to remain at home, but all to be taken to work in the fields. Some of my readers may perhaps be inclined to think, to hope at least, that I exaggerate. But let people visit them as I have done. As that probably may not be convenient, let them hear the language of these poor human creatures in the songs of their own composing, the representations which they make of it, their feelings, which they are forced at the time to confine within their heart—and then, if they affirm the contrary, I will willingly submit to the reproach of not having adhered to the truth.
So long the hay-making lasts,
Till the grass is all mowed down.
So long must we ted the swathes
Till the weeds are all away,
Till the sabines are raked off,
While the stack is not yet made.—
Ah I 'tis better to live in the bottomless pit,
More happy to be unhappy in hell,
Than to belong to our farm;
Before sun-rise we are already at work,
By moon-light the hay must be cocked,
After sun-set we must still be working.
The oxen feed while under the yoke,
The poor geldings are always in the team,
The labourer stands on pointed sticks,
His little help-mates on the sharp thorns.
Our lord walks upon a white floor!
Our lady wears a golden crown!
Our young masters wear silver rings!
They sit down in easy chairs,
Or walk up and down the hall.
Let them but look on us poor boors.
How we are tormented and plagued—
How the little ones are tortured
If they run but a finger's length from their work:
And we must all be kept dispersed.
A great broad piece of meadow is set them as a task, they must divide it in breadth, and thus are kept mowing at a distance from each other. Accordingly the comforts of society and converse are denied them at this season; and to this it is that the last line alludes
